


Counting the Days

by Gayani



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayani/pseuds/Gayani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dexter’s power over Debra is stronger than ever. No matter what she does, Debra can’t ever seem to live her life outside of Dexter’s shadow. Debster-centric. Spoilers through the preview of 8x10. Rated Teen for some swearing. Also posted on Fanfiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the Days

**Author's Note:**

> So many feelings about the last few episodes. Unfortunately most of them are not positive. I had to work through some of it and this is what happened  Spoilers through 8x9 and the preview for 8x10, although this does not spoil the actual episode of 8x10. The story goes AU after the preview. Keep in mind this is written mostly from Deb’s point of view and is working only with what Deb has seen from Dexter in the past few episodes. So basically I’m hoping he doesn’t really feel some of this, but the way the writers are telling the story tells me something else. Is anyone else really hoping that the past few episodes aren’t really driving the last ones?
> 
> Also I both agree and disagree with what people have said about what is happening to Deb’s characterization. Yes, she should be stronger than this and why the hell would she let Hannah stay at her house and yes, it’s stupid enough she didn’t arrest her in the Keys. BUT I also think that Deb is extremely vulnerable when it comes to Dexter. She’s already been without him and she realized when she tried to kill both of them that she couldn’t handle hurting him. Unfortunately at the moment that means she can’t do anything to Hannah. Anyways, I play around a lot with the idea that it is Dexter that causes these issues for her, and that she really is still Deb even if we miss the hardass we all love.
> 
> Also, I usually post on Fanfiction.net, but have been wanting to post here too for awhile :)
> 
> I set out to write this without dialogue, so hopefully that worked out! I welcome your thoughts and hope you enjoy!

It’s strange how things can change so quickly. How one instant can cancel out a lifetime. How one event can alter a relationship. How a person can be exactly who you think they are and a total stranger all at once.

  
A year ago she understood none of this. Six months ago it was blatantly clear. But here she was today and it was all jumbled once again.

  
Debra Morgan stares at her brother; at the man she had worshipped most of her life; and once again she hates him. It didn’t seem to matter what she had given him. The sacrifices she had made seemed inconsequential. Because here he was again, asking for more. Here he was twisting the knife deeper. And she stood there and let him. No. She helped him.

  
She doesn’t quite know when she figured it out. Maybe it was when she told him he could move out. Or maybe it was when he invited her to the crematorium. Perhaps it was when she stole that photo. There were probably a million little moments when a piece fell into place until the picture became whole. But at some point she knew she could never say no to him. There was no line she could draw. There was no limit she could set that he would not barrel down with a twitch of his eyebrow. Problem was, he knew that too.

  
And so here they were, another barrier crumbling. She had told herself it was enough, too much actually. He had already made her go too far. She had already compromised herself in ways she couldn’t have imagined. And she had told herself as she made the long, lonely drive back from the Keys that she was done. That the two of them could go fuck themselves; and more likely each other. She had talked herself blue in the face and Dexter could give a flying fuck what she had to say, so what was the point anymore.

  
It seemed odd to her that it was a mere two weeks ago that he was begging for her attention; desperate not to lose her and willing to do anything to get her back. Even after that accident he hadn’t been able to stay angry for long. But now he was once again pushing her away. And she was helpless to stop him. Why was it that when she wanted him to leave her alone he just couldn’t get enough? But when she loves him and accepts him he can’t wait to be rid of her?

‘No’ was not an option in this conversation, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted desperately to scream at him, to tell him to go to hell and let Satan fuck him. To tell him she didn’t give a fuck what happened to his girlfriend. Instead she smirked at him, tried to make a deal. She couldn’t even succeed at that. So she hated him because there was nothing else to do. And she hated herself for bending over and taking it. She knew she was better than this. In any other situation she could be better than this. But not when it comes to him.

  
So once again she gives up. Tells herself it’s not worth the fight because it’s a battle she has already lost. His power over her is limitless and the sooner she surrenders to it the better. Maybe if she doesn’t fight it this time she can at least hold on to her sanity. If she’s lucky, possibly a shred of her dignity. It seems that will be all she will have left in the end. She’s too smart to believe him when he says it will be over soon. But she shakes her head and lets it slide. She’s too tired for anything else.

* * *

Deb isn’t quite sure what she is thinking. Maybe this is another suicide attempt. Maybe she’s losing her fucking mind. Because here she sits with the enemy, eating food she is sure has been poisoned, making nice. She isn’t quite sure why she bothers. She feels that she’s already lost her brother. That he was gone the minute Hannah _Fucking_ McKay returned. Maybe this once again can be blamed on the effect he has on her, this desire to please him.  
 

* * *

  
She is angry when he tells her. But mostly she’s relieved. Mostly she’s so god damn happy that he will be leaving her life. She knows she shouldn’t feel this way. A few years ago she would have felt very differently. She would have refused him permission to go. She would have followed him to anywhere. But now, she wants him to leave. She wants it with unexpected clarity, no qualms, no reservations.

  
But she knows she shouldn’t tell him these things. She knows he expects differently, and if she doesn’t react as expected he will worry, and he will stay. Because even though he doesn’t seem to care about what happens to her, she knows he feels obligated. And she doesn’t want his fucking sympathy. She doesn’t need him moping around her pretending to care when he’d rather be with someone else.

  
So Deb holds onto her anger and shows it to him. She questions his stupidity; the idea of going on the lam with his son so he can be with a fugitive murderess. She tells him how bad this will be for Harrison, which she knows to be true. She reminds him that Harrison will find out about him if he pursues this and asks him if he really wants that. She asks him why he’s abandoning her when all the family she has left is her brother and nephew.

  
But he just gives her that look. The typical Dexter shrug of his shoulders, lift of his eyebrows that says _I know what I’m doing. I can handle it. You need to trust me._ But how can she trust him when she can’t even trust herself. And why should she when he’s done nothing but hurt her?

  
Deb looks away, off to the water, sighs and shakes her head. They both know he’s not looking for approval. They both know he will do whatever he god damn pleases, consequences be damned. Deb be damned.

  
But she secretly thinks this is good. She hopes this will make her life better. She couldn’t figure out how to get rid of him herself. She couldn’t break away as long as he held on to her. But if he leaves her, maybe it will stick. She won’t follow when he runs off with Hannah; it’s too disgusting and pathetic, even in her current state. So maybe this is the only way that things can change. The only way she can be her own person again.  
 

* * *

  
He calls to tell her that they’ve made it, they’re safe. She looks at the caller id, the long distance number, and silences the phone. She doesn’t want to know.

She’s decided he’s a cancer, one she’s had since she was two months old. He festered, hidden in her depths, unseen by the naked eye. He grew slowly but steadily, spread across every part of her. She hadn’t been able to recognize him for what he was until it was too late. By the time she found him out he had metastasized down to her bones. No one could cut him out of her.

  
Even now she can feel him, aching in her joints, coursing through her blood. But the distance has reduced his hold on her. She is in remission and maybe if she cuts it at the source she can be healed, cured. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, attempts to form the picture of her life without him, comes up blank. It will get better she assures herself.  
 

* * *

  
Four months, 13 days. 5 letters, 2 drawings, 3 postcards, countless phone calls. She doesn’t answer when the phone rings. The mail from Dexter is in code. The chicken scratch on the back of Harrison’s pictures says he misses her. She tries not to read it. She tries to throw it all away. But it’s hard enough denying herself the sound of his voice. So she gives in to his words, feels them wash over her and tries not to cry. She refuses to cry for him.

  
They won’t stop asking her about him at the station. But she’s still glad she went back. Without Dexter to fuck everything up she feels like a real cop again. She feels like a good cop again. Angel was unhappy to gain one Morgan only to lose the other. But he admits to her if he had to pick one then he got what he wanted. She smirks at the idea; Angel always was a better brother to her.

  
Quinn for his part won’t leave well enough alone. He broke up with Jaime the second Deb returned, as if it was a sign that she would go back to him as well. He was fairly persuasive she had to admit, having already gotten her into bed a handful of times. And despite her repeated protests that it would be the last time, he never seemed to give up. It was flattering to actually be wanted, so she let it continue, even though she knew it would never be fair to him, she knew she could never love him right.  
 

* * *

  
Seven months, 3 days. Another 4 letters. The phone calls have stopped. He asks her in writing what he couldn’t ask by phone, what he couldn’t leave in a voicemail. Why was she not answering him? Was she ok? He missed her. But these questions make her angry. They make her want to rage. She begins to tear up the letters. She boxes up Harrison’s artwork because it doesn’t seem fair to tear apart a four-year-old’s creation.

  
She stands in her kitchen and considers her life. She’s known for a while that Dexter has been the problem. So why has it been so difficult for her to push him out? The Debra Morgan she once knew would have stood for none of this. But that Debra Morgan did not realize that the threat to her well-being was the rock that she clung to. She knows better now. He’s gone and every day his hold over her loosens.

  
She closes her eyes and the picture actually forms. Her at work, catching bad guys, doing the right thing. Sometimes Joey even shows up. She opens her eyes and smiles. She feels healthier than she has in years.

* * *

1 year, 8 months. No contact in 350 days. She is relieved when the milestone comes around. She wonders if she’s ready to stop counting.

  
The sun is just coming up as she slips on her running shoes and stretches her legs. She closes her door, takes the moment to lock it. At least she has learned something. She hears the sound of shoes hitting the pavement, speeding towards her and turns in time for the small object to collide against her hips. She looks down at the mop of blond hair pressing against her waist. He turns his head up and beams at her. She wouldn’t have recognized him if she had seen him walking down the street.

  
The sound of her name from the end of her path pulls her gaze, and there he stands in the flesh, the one person she thought she’d never see again. Her heart leaps in spite of herself, it lodges somewhere in her throat and she is struck dumb. She can feel her jaw hanging open and has to take the effort to close her mouth, swallow and blink.

  
Her hands shake as she opens the door, her knees give and she practically collapses onto the couch as Dexter and Harrison follow her into the house and watch her. She looks up at them, both tanner than before. Harrison has easily grown a foot. Dexter looks thinner, but even more muscular. She wonders what he has been doing in Argentina. If she had ever answered his calls she would know, his letters could never tell her the truth.

  
Dexter makes himself at home as usual, getting Harrison a glass of water because there is nothing else in Deb’s fridge that he can drink. He leaves his son in the kitchen, sits down on Deb’s coffee table facing her.

  
In hushed tones he tells her he left Hannah. It wasn’t working. He won’t elaborate. She knows she was always right, but has a feeling she doesn’t want the details. Deb watches the sun rise over Dexter’s shoulder as he tells her he’s back if she’ll have him. The light burns her retinas but she doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink. She registers that he is asking if she is ok, but she doesn’t know the answer to that.

  
She gets up abruptly, glances at Harrison, who still looks excited to see her, then goes in her bedroom and closes the door.  
 

* * *

  
She hasn’t given him the ok, but Dexter shows up at the department that afternoon. He takes Harrison around to see everyone. They’re all surprised and exclaim that Deb didn’t tell them he’d be back. He smiles easily at them, throws sideways glances at Deb as she stands in the back of the gathered crowd staring at her feet. She wonders what happens now. She is scared to close her eyes and form a picture, afraid of what she will see.

  
He corners her by the coffeemaker while Masuka entertains Harrison. She still hasn’t figured out how to say no to him and finds him steering her through the department, down the elevator and out to the coffee stand. He orders her a cappuccino, doesn’t know she takes her coffee black these days.

  
He gets her to a table and tries to ask her what is going on. But he still doesn’t know the right things to say and she’s reticent to give him any leeway. So mostly they sit and look at each other. She flinches slightly when he tells her she looks good, when he admits how much he missed her. He even manages to admit that she was right, that he should not have left.

  
She stares at the foam as it fizzes and deflates and wonders what she should do. She thought she had gotten stronger. She thought she had figured out how to be without him, how to exclude him from her life. But the cancer has returned with renewed vigor. When she meets his eye she sees his hope, it pinches her heart.  
 

* * *

  
Dexter and Harrison move in, uninvited. They take over the living room. Dexter says it’s just for a little while, until his renters finish the year out. Deb tries not to show her surprise that he still has the apartment. It tells her he was never as sure of Hannah as he claimed to be. But she doesn’t say anything about it to him.

  
Its three days before she finally asks the question that has been nagging at her since his arrival. Should she be concerned about how it ended with Hannah? Will there be repercussions? Dexter’s gaze hardens; he tells her Hannah is no longer a problem. It’s the tone in his voice that gives him away. It’s the first time she wonders how he took care of his hobby down there. She doesn’t know how she knows, but she does.

  
Harrison doesn’t mention Hannah and that is probably what bothers Deb the most. She tries again to ignore the question of what happened. Decides she can’t ask Dexter. Promises herself she will never ask him. She decides while she’s making decisions that things will be different now. She won’t get involved in his pastime; she won’t ask questions or demand answers. This time she will find a way to ignore his darkness so she doesn’t lose herself. She has no idea how she will do this.  
 

* * *

  
Joey can’t stop by with Dexter and Harrison camped out in her house, but Deb stops going to him too. He asks her if she’s alright, questions if things have changed. But it was never a real relationship, even Quinn has to admit that. He lets it slide, tries not to drive her away more than she seems to be leaving on her own. She feels guilty when she looks at him. She knows she is hurting him all over again, but she thinks this was inevitable. He handles it better this time. Probably easier to deal with it when you haven’t proposed.

  
More than a month she’s been living with her brother and nephew, it still seems strange somehow. One night she slips into the kitchen for a glass of water. Dexter startles her as she drinks and she barely manages to hold onto the glass as she spins to face him. He’s wearing only his boxers and as Deb takes in his bare chest she realizes she is only clad in a pair of boy shorts and a too thin tank top. The light of the full moon illuminates the kitchen and Deb shifts awkwardly, putting down the glass, arms crossing over her chest.

  
He tells her for what feels like the tenth time that week how much he missed her. How even standing here with her he still misses her. His fingers glide through a section of her hair and she shivers as he moves closer, tucking the strand behind her ear.

  
His fingers linger, she can feel the small calluses brush against the shell of her ear. The movement startles her and she gasps, eyes widening, trying to take in his motive. This intimacy is daunting and she is torn between wanting to stop him and wanting to stay in this moment for eternity. Though she doesn’t trust him, she leans into his touch. His fingers slide down her neck, settle against her clavicle. He’s whispering her name, chanting it like a mantra. She’s sure this is a dream, or maybe a nightmare. Her eyes slide closed, she can’t look at him, can’t trust what she will see in his eyes.

  
He pulls her closer and there’s the lightest of touches against her jugular. His lips brush her temple, his hand slides down her back then under her shirt. He’s pressing kisses down her throat.

  
She shouldn’t allow this. She should draw the line, even if she wants this, even if her body is humming and tingling and burning with desire. She still hasn’t figured out how to say no to him. She can’t let him in any further. He has already barged back into her life, into her home, into her job. He has drilled back into her flesh, her bones, her soul. She has been unresisting as he has taken over everything. But this one last thing she shouldn’t grant him. She can’t let him run ram shod over her heart.

  
They have been here before. Not in this precise place, but close. He has played her for the fool one too many times. Making her believe he cares, that he might even love her. But she’s not a fool anymore. She knows how it will end. She knows he will hurt, maim, destroy her. She thinks all of these things and then wraps her fingers around his shoulders, presses her body into his.

  
He takes this as permission, moves and guides her and she finds they are in her bedroom, the door shut. He’s already gotten rid of her top and is working on her shorts. She feels that he is a tidal wave, bowling her over, flooding into her senses. She is swept up in him, his touch scalds, but she can’t get enough.

  
He kisses her and her lips part. Their tongues come together. He kisses like Rudy. She pushes the thought away.

  
He goes slowly, enters her at infuriatingly measured pace. She wonders out loud what the fuck he is doing, but he won’t be rushed. He has to have his way. He is both bruising and gentle, as always he must be a paradox. He holds her down, keeps control. She likes it more than she wants to admit.

  
After, they face each other in the bed, his hand splayed against her hip, their legs entwined. He tells her he loves her, really loves her. He’s realized how he always has. He tells her he didn’t understand before, but he does now. He asks if she still loves him that way. She knows the answer because it’s always been the same. But she doesn’t want to tell him, it frightens her now. She thinks if he knows that he will leave once again.

  
Instead she closes her eyes, burrows against him, and wraps her arms around him. He takes her silence, accepts it.  
 

* * *

  
Deb watches and waits. Waits for the other shoe to drop. Waits for Dexter to disappoint her, hurt her. Waits and waits and waits until she starts to think it might be ok. The renters are long gone, but Dexter and Harrison are still in her house. Every night once Harrison is asleep Dexter sneaks into her room. He lies down next to her, rouses her from sleep and kisses her. She stares at him through the darkness. She thinks she sees him more clearly this way.

  
Sometimes he says nothing, but pulls her close, strokes her head until she falls back to sleep. Other times his hands wander, caressing and cajoling. He coaxes mind blowing orgasms from her as he tries to keep her quiet. Then there are those times he talks to her. Unbidden he spills forth secrets she couldn’t have imagined; the first being the true nature of Brian’s death.

  
Deb didn’t have a response to it. Wasn’t sure how she should feel about it. And despite that or maybe because of it, Dexter opened up further. It was as if the dam had broken, nothing was off limits. He told her about Doakes, Miguel Prado, Trinity, even Lumen. Then he told her about Hannah, how her true nature emerged. How she was vindictive, manipulative. How she used Harrison against him. About the night he came home and found Hannah drugging Harrison’s milk. It was the last straw.

  
He tells her that he thought of her every day from the moment he left Miami. How he wished she was by his side. How much he needed to have her near him. Deb listens and tries to believe him. Sometimes she really does, other times she thinks of how he left to begin with, how he chose someone else.  
 

* * *

  
Six months the Morgan men have been living in Debra’s house. She sits at the counter in her kitchen and watches Harrison sprawled on the floor, drawing. Dexter stands behind her, his hands on her shoulders, fingertips sneaking under the neck of her shirt. She never knew he could be like this, but this is their new normal.

  
She can’t describe herself as happy. She doesn’t feel with him what she felt with Lundy, trusting and fulfilled. She will never be able to believe in him the same way again. Sometimes this thought brings tears to her eyes. But then she knows the peace that fills her in Dexter’s presence. She knows how empty she feels without him. She might not be happy, but she thinks this is the closest she will get.  
 

* * *

  
Sometimes she still resents him. Resents the hold he has over her, the fact that she can’t be without him. She hates herself for this, blames herself for needing him. She wishes she could be stronger, but she was always vulnerable to him. Sometimes she thinks there is no other way. This has been built with the bricks of the Code, the rejection from her father, the loneliness of her childhood. Even now when she knows who he is, what he has done to her, her love for him overpowers all else.

  
He still sneaks out a few times a month. Deb knows this. Dexter knows that Deb knows. But neither speaks of it. She has become an expert at ignoring what she needs to. This is an acquired skill for her. Deb has always been too much of a detective to ignore what happens around her. But there is no mystery left in this. And so long as no one else suspects she can continue to pretend that Dexter is just some blood spatter lab geek.  
 

* * *

  
After a while they decide they can’t live together anymore. If people knew, it would look odd. Why are Dexter and Harrison sharing a living room when there is an entire empty apartment waiting for them? So they move out and Deb has her space again. But it feels hollow.

  
Weekdays are spent separately, but weekends they are all together; sometimes at Deb’s, sometimes at Dex’s. They make breakfast and eat together. They take the boat out on the water. They take Harrison to the fair, to Orlando to visit Cody and Astor. Anyone on the outside would think they are a perfect family. Deb doesn’t need the reminder that they are not.  
 

* * *

  
One weekend morning Debra wakes up in her bed alone. The side Dexter usually takes is untouched. She goes out to the kitchen, but it is deathly quiet, no pancakes being flipped, no sign of him. Her stomach twists painfully. She distracts Harrison, takes him to the beach, avoids his questions about his father.

By nightfall she is truly worried. She has called him a dozen times already and there has yet to be an answer. Deb paces her bedroom and wonders what to do. She thinks maybe she is overreacting. Dexter has been in binds before and he has managed to pull through. This is probably just another one. He always says he can handle things and she usually believes him.

  
She checks on Harrison asleep on the couch, locks the door and gets in the car. She drives around for an hour but has no idea where to look, what he might have been up to. She stops by his place, but she doesn’t find anything to lead her to his location, his target. She curses him for being so careful. She goes home and paces more.

  
She lies down at some point and manages an hour of fitful sleep, but it’s now been 24 hours and she is fully panicked. Deb considers her options. What would happen if she went to the cops? Could she keep Dexter’s hobby hidden? Even if they found him, what would he be coming home to?

  
Maybe she should wait still, give him a few days. But tomorrow will be Monday and people will wonder when he doesn’t show up to work. Deb decides she will not sound the alarm yet. She drops Harrison at a friend’s house, spends Sunday checking Dexter’s place for any evidence before the cops might have a chance.

  
Monday morning she takes Harrison to school, tells him his father should be there in the afternoon. Her gut tells her differently. She goes to work and waits to be asked. At 10:30 Angel stops by her desk. She admits she hasn’t spoken to him all weekend. She lies and says he was supposed to be out of town, a weekend break fishing by himself.

  
By noon Angel is pushing her to file the police report. Deb twists her fingers together to stop the shaking.

  
The cops call the marina, find that Dexter’s boat never left its dock. Its owner had not been seen there at all that weekend. Deb feels she can finally show her panic, if not the source of it.

  
By the end of the day they have found his car parked outside a bar in a seedy part of town. Angel pulls Deb into his office to tell her. He holds her hand, comforts her by saying that all hope is not lost. But Deb knows. She has known since she woke up alone two days ago.

  
That afternoon she picks up Harrison from school. He smiles and looks happy to see her, but asks about his father yet again. She takes him home, sits him down and tells him she doesn’t know where Dexter is. That she thinks maybe someone hurt him. Harrison’s face darkens.

  
She manages to console him, put him to bed, but as Deb watches him sleep she wonders what she is supposed to do without Dexter.

  
She finally can identify this feeling she’s had since Saturday morning. It hasn’t been worry or fear. It’s been emptiness. She woke up feeling empty; she woke up knowing he was gone.

  
That night she sits on his bed and wonders what happened. Did he try to take a victim and end up with a fatal injury? Was he vetting someone who realized he was being watched? Did he meet someone like himself who felt that Dexter needed to be eliminated?

  
Whatever the case she knows Dexter won’t be coming back. She thinks she will never find out the truth behind it. She finally cries.

  
Deb clamps her hand over her mouth so that she won’t wake Harrison. Hot, broken sobs claw out of her chest. Her whole life she’s felt alone, abandoned by everyone. Even Dexter has left her before. But there’s finality to it this time.  
 

* * *

  
6 Days, 9 hours, 43 minutes. Dexter has been missing officially for four days. Angel has been telling her all week to stay home, take it easy. But what’s the point? She knows he’s gone and sitting alone in the house thinking about it is no good for either her or Harrison. Angel reminds her to hold out hope. Deb nods and stares at her desk.

  
Quinn finds her in the break area staring at the coffee pot, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. He puts his arms around her, finds her an empty interrogation room where she can cry without being watched.

  
Deb closes her eyes and all she sees is black. The darkness envelopes her, presses down on her. She opens her eyes gasping for breath. She doesn’t think it will get better.  
 

* * *

  
Three weeks, 2 days, 4 hours, 10 minutes. Deb and Harrison have a new routine. She picks him up after school, they go out for Mexican or pizza, sometimes Chinese. She takes him home. They pretend to watch cartoons. Deb watches him from the corner of her eye, worries that he’s depressed. He hasn’t smiled since she picked him up that first day at school.

  
Deb makes him an appointment with a therapist, explains what she can and crosses her fingers that his father’s darkness won’t overtake him as well.

She calls Astor and Cody, tells them about Dexter. They’re quiet on the other end of the line. She wishes she had gone to Orlando to tell them in person, but she didn’t think she could look them in the eye and say it.

  
At work people tiptoe around her, try extra hard to be nice to her. She wishes they would go back to normal. It would help her if they could back the fuck off.  
 

* * *

  
8 months, 2 weeks, 3 days. Deb decides it is time to leave Miami. When she closes her eyes she no longer sees the city she grew up in. She doesn’t see anything real except Harrison and nothing seems particularly happy. But she thinks a new location could change this.

  
Astor has just left for college on the Eastern seaboard; Cody will be heading off himself soon. It’s not as if Deb really visits them anyways.

  
Angel practically begs her to stay. Quinn actually asks if he can come with her. Matthews doesn’t give her a hard time about it. He looks sorry for her. Deb can’t wait to get out.

  
She packs up her and Harrison’s lives. Harrison too seems excited to leave. Neither mentions a possibility of Dexter returning, of being alive. She has no plan, but they get in the car with the trailer attached and drive. She heads north. She thinks about Mike Anderson and Chicago but decides she’s not cut out for the snow. She heads west, ponders California and maybe Arizona. She reconsiders and goes south again, down into Texas.

  
They’ve been driving, wandering for 10 days when they enter Corpus Christi, Texas. Deb checks them into a hotel and they drive around exploring. It’s larger than Miami, but a smaller population. Deb likes that they can still live on the water. She spends that evening reading the crime statistics. Turns out to be more assaults than murders. Something in that appeals to her.

  
The police department needs some younger blood. She’s overqualified and they like her immediately, love her potty mouth. She takes the job, finds her and Harrison a house on the beach and tries to figure out how to be normal.  
 

* * *

  
3 years, 3 months. Deb feels settled. She’s done well with her career. She’s already a lieutenant and should make captain in the next few years. She’s even seeing someone. He’s normal. He’s boring. She thinks that’s ok.

  
Deb’s real problem is Harrison. At 11 years old he’s curious, asking questions. She can’t decide which she hates more, the ones about his mother or the ones about his father. He remembers things that make her cringe, some market where Hannah held his hand, the last few months when Dex and Deb seemed inseparable. He asks her about it and Deb tries her best not to lie or swear too much.

  
Some nights she lies in bed and stares at the spot where Dexter would have rested his head. She thinks about them as kids, she wishes she could go back and change something. She can’t figure out what it would be, what could bring her to a better place now, what could bring him back to her. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t figure out a way that her life would have been better and still included Dexter. She wishes her father had never brought him home.  
 

* * *

  
7 years, six months, 5 days. Deb puts together a memorial in Miami, everyone attends, including a grown up Astor and Cody. There’s no body, there’s nothing to be certain except for Deb’s own instincts and the stretch of time he’s been gone.

  
She has had him declared legally dead so that Harrison would have money for school. The formality of the memorial seems appropriate if unnecessary.

They eat at Angel’s restaurant afterwards. Deb looks around the table and sees the evidence of years gone by. Harrison is nearly her height, but takes after Rita in most other ways. Astor and Cody are adults and friends. It reminds her of what it was like to have a brother. Angel is grayer, a bit rounder in the belly, but happy. And Quinn is married, has a kid; it’s especially strange for Deb to watch him with his family, knowing it could have been her. Even Masuka is mellowed, calm.

  
They swap Dexter stories. Deb stays quiet. It’s hard to share with people who don’t know him, not really anyways. She closes her eyes, pictures their nights together.

  
Deb and Harrison go back to their lives in Texas.  
 

* * *

  
23 years, 7 months, 2 days. Harrison’s wedding day. The bride is a lovely woman who Deb actually likes. Harrison has never seemed happier. Deb is beyond relieved that she and Dexter haven’t completely fucked him up. She is amazed Dexter created a legacy that didn’t include bloodshed. She sits with Astor and Cody and their families at the reception. As she plays with Astor’s five year old daughter she wonders how life turned out so ordinary. It makes her unbelievably happy.

  
At the end of the night she returns alone to her empty home. Under her bed she keeps a box that she manages to only touch a few times a year. She leafs through the old photographs, reads through the letters that she didn’t throw away. At moments like this she still misses him with a blinding intensity. But she knows she couldn’t have hoped for any better of an outcome. Dexter’s life was destined for a dark ending, she’s lucky that she and Harrison escaped unscathed.  
 

* * *

  
41 years, 10 months, 15 days. Debra’s heart is giving out. Harrison sits with her diligently, although she tells him its fine. She is the only family he’s really known. She squeezes his hand and reassures him, tells him to be good to his wife and children.

  
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and sees Dexter: At 6 helping her after she fell over and started crying. At 13 grasping her hand as their parents told them their mother was sick. At 19 holding her hair back after she’d had too much at a party. At 23 helping her pick out their father’s coffin. At 36, dancing at his wedding.

  
She remembers them eating steaks and drinking beers. She remembers them laughing and joking. She remembers them making love. She remembers how many good memories there were. She remembers how lucky they were to have each other, once upon a time.

  
She smiles and lets go.


End file.
